Is Frienship Possible After a Relationship?

Of course, every situation/relationship is unique and involves certain variables that cannot be replicated; but, in general, I have always wondered if it was truly possible to be friends once you have crossed that line and had any kind of relationship. I’m not talking about just having sex (I do believe that friendship is possible after that, as there may be little or no emotional involvement associated with the sex), but rather some sort of deeper connection, whether it be boyfriends or partnership, or whatever. Of course, there has to be willingness between both parties and a lack of animosity between them before any friendship is possible, but how do you get to that point?
Well, personally, I’ve had it both ways. I’ve had a relationship with a man that is now one of closest confidants despite the fact that we are no longer in any way romantically involved, and I have been in a relationship with a man that I tried to be friends with but whom I no longer have any contact with whatsoever. Perhaps there are some answers in examining both situations.
I suppose we can start with the confidant, as he came first into my life chronologically. I had just lost the first love I ever had (or maybe it was my first infatuation). Nonetheless, it was a loss. He moved 600 miles away to take a new job, and I was not taking it as well as I was putting on. I was sort of drifting so to speak, until I agreed to attend a party in a small town outside the city. I knew very few people at the party, but by the end of the night (and into the next morning) I had become fairly well acquainted with a certain gentleman that I would proceed to date for the next few months. We saw each other every weekend and whenever else we could meet in the city.
It was I that ended the relationship, and yes, me being young and stupid, I did it on Valentine’s Day. Such cruelty, I know. He was angry at me. I could see that he wanted to lash out at me, he was hurt. But his heart was too kind to do so. He let me walk out. I recall his tears as I left. I called every few days, trying to see if he was alright, trying not to be the bad guy, even though I was. He always answered, was always there to talk to me even though I could tell he so desperately wanted it not to be over. I didn’t want him to hurt and I tried to be patient with his feelings. Eventually, he started seeing a few other people, and I moved on to another relationship. Our conversations became less frequent, but never ceased. For a long time, I could hear the pain in his voice, but I was ever patient with him, and he with me in his own way.
It was hard for a long time. We weren’t exactly close, but still made an effort to keep in touch. We both eventually realized that we weren’t meant to be a couple. We worked better as friend. He would tell me his problems, and I mine until eventually we could tell each other anything. We were able to laugh together again. I could and can still call him at any hour and he is always there with encouraging words. We have even been able to openly talk about what went wrong between us and why it didn’t work, which has helped me tremendously in discovering who I was/am in subsequent relationships. We were able to turn it into a positive relationship. He always makes me feel better when I call, and hopefully I do the same for him. Since we did have some kind of relationship, however short, he knows me on a deeper level than most people and can read me a little better than most. When there is no one else to turn to, he is always there. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Now let’s reverse the situation and move ahead in time about 5 years. This time, I am the one being left. I met this one at the end of a tumultuous 6 months or so after leaving my lover of 4½ years. He was a breath of fresh air for a little while until he decided to end the relationship (once again, a short one) rather abruptly. Suddenly I was in exactly the same situation I had been in 5 years previously, only in the opposite role. I was feeling the anger and the loss that I had caused the last time (call is karma. It sure took me for a loop, but definitely taught me a lesson).
I was told that a friendship was desired, and so I tried that for a while. I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t want to waste the effort and energy I had put into this man completely by just walking away. I tried to be patient. Like a lot of us, I thought he would come around eventually; but, of course, he did not. And perhaps we tried it too quickly after ending the relationship as there were always unresolved questions and issues that were not discussed and therefore led to an underlying animosity between us by sheer misunderstanding of each other’s perceptions of the situation. We didn’t give each other enough time to process what had gone on and to heal. We would be fine for a few days, and then end up in an argument. Almost like siblings. And I couldn’t speak to him as a friend about what I was going through because most everything that was bothering me had to do with him. And when I tried to explain how I was feeling, I was continually cut off or simply ignored for a time until the thought passed. I felt almost as if I was expected to just forget everything that had gone on between us and start over as if I had just met him, and that I could not do. I just couldn’t stop caring just like that. I didn’t handle it well, to say the least, but I did try. It became so bad near the end that we were cursing at each other and fighting like children. It became one of the most negative relationships I have ever experienced, friendship or otherwise. Therefore, it was necessary for it to end, and I cannot call him even so much as an acquaintance anymore. It saddens me. It’s not the outcome I hoped for, but that’s what happened.
I really could not tell whether or not he really wanted to be my friend or if he just made the effort he did out of pity or guilt at hurting me. And perhaps I had done the same thing myself, breaking up with the guy and then staying in touch, just trying not to be the bad guy more than anything, although in the end, I truly did want to be his friend and did value that friendship dearly. It’s hard to say. But the real question is why did it work as a friendship in one instance, and not in the other? What was different about the two situations?
In the first, there was definitely more time to process everything; and, as we didn’t live so close together, there was a physical distance that allowed for space to heal and recollect ourselves. In the second, we had become so ingrained in each others worlds so quickly and lived so closely together that it was much more difficult to just suddenly separate. There was not time lapse to sort of decompress, everything was just there, period, at least for me; and it was hard to get past it because there was so much to deal with. Everything in my immediate space was him and I couldn’t separate myself from it to see it from the outside and move on right away. I couldn’t get out from under him, I was stuck. And while both of us made an effort and truly wanted a friendship in the end in the first instance, I question whether that was the case in the second. Perhaps I wasn’t patient enough with myself or with him. I may never know.
The bottom line in either case, or at least what I have learned, is that a friendship, especially a close friendship, must evolve over time just like any other relationship. Sometimes it will work out, and sometimes it won’t. It’s not really something you can control. There has to be effort on both parts for it to work, interest in each other, common goals and mutual interests. Perhaps I tried to force it too much in the second instance. I wanted the friendship to be as close as the actual relationship, telling each other everything, doing things together. Just no sex, I guess. That wasn’t possible, because the feeling wasn’t mutual. With the first relationship, we both knew where we stood and eventually accepted each other in our roles in the friendship, and it worked. We support each other as best we can and uplift each other like good friends should. In the second instance, we brought each other down over and over again, and it had to be stopped. Either way, I learned a lot from both instances. Seeing it from both sides of the coin has given me a real appreciation for the dynamics of such an endeavor. I’ve been both the leaver and the left. I know what it feels like. I don’t expect it’s going to get any easier the next time around, either way, but at least I’ll go into a little better prepared.

Do Gay Men Really Love?

A question was posed to me the other day: “Do gay men really love?” The man who asked me had obviously already formed his own opinion on the subject, but I had never thought about it as a blanket generalization for the entire community. The only answer I could give him at the time was that I myself had loved, I knew that in my heart; and, therefore, at least one of us had.
Of course, then, it becomes an individual question. Only we as individuals truly know if we have loved or not. And sometimes we don’t realize it until it is too late whether we truly did or not.
But then, why would it have to be a gay issue at all. The question would really have to be whether or not people in general ever really love, if anyone can be selfless enough to give themselves to another person. Again, it becomes an individual question and cannot be applied to an entire group or community. To do so would be stereotyping, and we know fundamentally that that is wrong, right?
This then brings up a larger issue in our community. Why do we feel it necessary to stereotype ourselves? Are we not ostracized and criticized and stereotyped enough by everyone else? Is it some form of self-hatred? Do we hide behind it to excuse our actions or rationalize our shortcomings instead of trying to be good people and improve ourselves? To ask “Do gay men really love?” is essentially to excuse yourself from having to do just that.
If you choose not to love, that’s fine. Just be honest about that decision instead of hiding behind some false notion that you are incapable of love simply because you are of a certain sexual orientation. Surely anyone can see how ridiculous such an idea is. That’s like saying a gay man is incapable of liking peanut butter simply because he doesn’t like women. The decision to love (if it is a decision) or rather to pursue love is a fundamentally human one, not a gay one. In the big picture, isn’t choosing to pursue love, to be with another person essentially about growing up, being mature enough to take on that responsibility, being brave enough to put yourself out there?
Love is part emotion, part uncontrollable desire and fondness, but also part decision. We must make a conscious decision to allow love into our lives, to choose another person to share our life experiences with. It is the individual that must make that decision, not the gay community as a whole.

The Beginning

So, this is the beginning of what will hopefully be an interesting forum for my views on the current state of the world. What you need to know before we begin is that I am no expert on any subject, but I do have a valid point of view. My measly 28 years on this earth may not be impressive; but in those 28 years, I have found myself in nearly every relationship situation possible in the gay community from acquaintance to dear friend, cheap fling to long-term lover. At the moment, I find myself in a transitional period. I am alone for the first time since I had barely turned 20, have been through the most tumultuous year of my life romantically, and am starting over from scratch basically in every aspect of my life except my career. That being said, I seem to have a lot to say, but nowhere to express my thoughts and concerns on this issue of gay romance, relationships, and yes, maybe even sex (we'll see). And so arrived an idea in my head. "Start a blog," my brain said from somewhere way back in the back. And so I have. It begins today. Call it self-therapy. Call it ridiculous ramblings. Call it what you will. But, hopefully, someone will read it and maybe not makes the same mistakes I did. Or at least get a good laugh.